


I Have Made It For You

by KittyViolet



Category: New Mutants, Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Sex, Art, Canon Compliant, Coitus Interruptus, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Girl Penis, Girls Kissing, Robot Sex, School, Story within a Story, Threesome - F/F/F, Vibrators, but it all works out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyViolet/pseuds/KittyViolet
Summary: The artist formerly known as Warbird wants to do something special for her gf.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Wolverine and the X-Men vol. 1, some time after Battle of the Atom and Astonishing 66.

You might think—Ava’Dara thought—you might think that all-day, every-day, every-planet training to be an omnicompetent indomitable techno-warrior would not prepare you at all, in any way, for a career shift to gallery artist and art teacher. 

And you would be right, if “art” meant nothing but “painting.” When Ava’Dara paints, or draws with charcoal (there’s a picture of Dani that took hours, and one of Illyana that required days), she couldn’t be farther from the kill-it-if-you-must, build-it-if-you-can, repair-it-if-there-are-sparks-coming-out-of-it preparation that she received as a hatchling on the homeworld.

Sculpture, however- that’s a different story. She learned about self-portraits in Earthly art almost as soon as she set foot in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (a building that puzzles her still: it feels hard to defend). And she learned there that Earth artists could make lifelike statues and busts of people who were not famous, or ennobled, or leaders of state, even if those people had not died gloriously in battle.

And, given a weekend with nobody else in the Jean Grey School’s robotics department, she thought she’d combine the two and make a life-size statue of herself. A working statue of herself. Not with the power of fluent speech in English or French or Vietnamese or Shi’ar—she wasn’t building an AI! and not with the blinding dexeterity she had established over years of practice with diamond-tipped axes, laser halberds, and longswords—this wasn’t a combat bot! 

Instead, the Ava’dara Naganandini moving statue would have a realistic gait and seated posture, a wardrobe of sheer, cotton-comfort, and winter-weight outfits, with lifelike mocha skin and that layered hair texture—the white feathered hair meant lots of trial and error—and, oh, with exquisitely sensitive remote controls. 

Also it would be—if she guessed right (and even now, Ava’dara sometimes guessed wrong)—a hot, lovely, three-month anniversary present.

“I can’t,” said Xi’an. She moved, not slowly, but deliberately. Something about the years of wariness would never leave her. 

“You can’t take Leong and Nga to Chicago? Why not, my love partner?” The Shi’ar artist had learned her English as an adult; sometimes it showed. “If airport delays might be an issue for Nga, as they were in the past, we can easily create a distracting event in order to ground all commercial air travel for the duration of their flight.”

Xi’an smiled. Ava’dara would do anything for the woman she loved. Or for family. “No, the Chicago trip will be fine, ‘bird. I just can’t get up to North Adams this Friday with you. I teach Wednesdays and Thursdays and I’m going to need to be business lady on Friday.” Ava’dara understood how it felt to hold down two jobs, or to have two vocations. And the art opening was really Ava’dara’s thing anyway; she had just asked her… girlfriend? that’s the word Xi’an preferred…. to be polite.

The present, however—that was really for Xi’an. “I understand and will describe the Post-Abstract Astrals exhibit in as much detail as you prefer when I return.” (Or more detail, Xi’an thought: Ava’dara held nothing back.) “I will be gratified simply to see it, but more so to tell you how much it affects me. May I gratify you, my lover?”

“’Bird!” Xi’an said. “You’ve made…. a self-portrait robot?”

“Almost,” said the artist formerly known as Warbird. “Have a sitting down. I have made it”—and she threw her feathered hair back into a dramatic, no, a melodramatic pause—“for you.”

Xi’an preferred that almost no one mention or talk about her leg, but “almost” meant it was OK for Ava’dara—and, Ava’dara deduced, for her new machine; the Vietnamese American mutant felt a slight buzzing in that artificial leg, like a phone ringing, no, like a pull, bringing her gently—once she chose to follow the pull—through the doorway and into the workshop, past the stack of circuit boards, the Sharpie-on-2x4 diagrams, the scrap metal.

The robo-Ava’dara loped over to a plush oversize wingback, by far the most comfortable chair in the workshop, and sat down.

Xi’an’s leg buzzed again: she followed the pull until her calf brushed the calf of the seated Ava’dara likeness. Was she meant to sit down in its—in her—lap? Apparently so; Xi’an brushed the black skirt aside and settled herself over the taller alien’s form, mutant chin at alien’s shoulder height.

“You have done and said so much that has made me comfortable with who I am,” Ava’dara said. “Being in the place where you are has been so, so good for me, and for my drawing and painting and sculpture, and for my embodiment. All of the things are better with you.

“It is almost like I am a new me. Another me. It is not like that, but sometimes it feels almost. Our dates, our bed at night—every time I am closer to you I am closer to becoming my best self. And I am so happy now that I wanted to use our robotics and make a new me, for real, one that can belong to you.”

The mechanical Warbird moved her arms in closer to Xi’an’s body, less of a warm statue, more of a snug warm couch, and shifted her knees so that Xi’an would have to turn, with both of Xi’an’s knees over one of the robot’s strong thighs, as if the robot were about to lift her up. Instead, something else was happening under Xi’an’s thighs, and between them: new technology, surely, was unfolding. Xi’an’s leg was no longer vibrating, but something else was.

“May we go further together?” Ava’dara asked.

Ava’dara’s lover, who had been through so much, who had so little chance—before they met, before this school opened—to live for herself, looked at her Shi’ar partner and nodded, quietly, unmistakably. On the Shi’ar homeworld the up-and-down slow nod meant “separate them forever.” But Xi’an knew that Ava’dara knew that here it meant “yes.”

The artist formerly known as Warbird closed her left hand around her palm, gently, without making a fist: she must be manipulating a portable controller. A metallic flower opened up under Karma, extending one, two, three warm segments between her legs, quietly, slowly, moving around until it had found the spaces where a device could get almost inside her, almost opening up her folds. At the same time the robo-Warbird raised her right elbow, her right wrist, her right hand, and placed her hand, firmly, gently, on Xi’an’s right breast, building up soft pressure under her striped top. The hand was warm. Xi’an felt warm, too: she could feel her heart rate building.

“Mmmm,” Xi’an said, eyes almost closed.

Ava’dara walked across the robotics workshop, careful not to step on any circuit boards or otherwise unused spare parts, until she stood behind the plush wingback, then next to it, so she could look Xi’an in both eyes. “What I learned before about remotely piloted vehicles has, I believe that people in the English language, say, some peacetime utility? I have built a thing to make you comfortable.” Ava’dara’s fingers shifted around her left palm. “Or this is perhaps better than comfortable?”

The robo-Warbird took Xi’an’s still-clothed nipple between two fingers, still very gently, as the mechanical flower below her bloomed and buzzed and expanded. Xi’an’s legs parted slightly along with her lips. “It is better,” she said. “What you’ve made—I love what you made.”

It’s not a self-portrait, Xi'an thought, or a living statue, as much as the gift of a big, lifelike vibrator, the world’s highest-tech, most lover-like vibrator. She might not even want it when Ava’dara was away—Xi’an had more than enough experience, thank you, with figures that looked like people but behaved like robots, powered by remote controls. But when her lover was present? Two lovers for one. Or almost two for one. She could sit in her lover’s strong lap, and feel held, and feel safe, and at the same time look her in the eye, and feel seen.

Xi’an could feel all of her body, her skin, her backs of her thighs, even her shoulders, the back of her neck, right under her choppy, butch hair, becoming more responsive, more fully there. The feeling extended, somehow—advanced robotics?—into her leg. The whole of herself felt good—she was very much an adult, in her closest adult’s lap, snuggling, in a verty adult way, one that Ava’dara had literally invented, and yet it could get better, she could feel better still, before the flower opened up inside her farther, before she lost language entirely—

Tossing her bangs out of her face, back into her short hair, Karma reached out to the real, live, non-constructed, really-her Ava’dara and pulled her around and down until their lips met. They kissed. Kissing a Shi’ar girl felt different from the very few human and Earth-based mutant girls Karma had kissed: Ava’dara felt slightly metallic, with blueberries and a sharp aftertaste, and for Xi’an it was the best taste in the world. 

Xi’an could feel, too, the slight hesitation, the memory-trace in Ava’dara from when she had been so afraid of herself, of her feelings for Xi’an, for any human at at all, let alone one who seemed to have the same gender: the flinch, and then the decision, yes, the hard leaning in. (It hadn’t been that long since Warbird, as she was called then, stayed out of Northstar’s wedding: so often what we fear is a part of ourselves.) Kissing her now was epic, was a multi-stage delight.

Was Xi’an strong enough to do this? physically strong enough? Probably, and if not, Ava’dara would brace herself. They had done it before. There were advantages to having a Shi’ar lover, many advantages, once you knew the rules.

Xi’an pulled Ava’dara all the way around so that she almost fell on top on Xi’an. A few moments later Ava’dara sat in Xi’an’s lap, Ava’dara’s right hand over Xi’an’s loose knit skirt, while Xi’an remained in the robot-Ava’dara’s lap, held tight by the robot’s hand on her breast, the robot’s…. flower near her most sensitive parts.

“I’m flowering too,” Ava’dara said. “May I flower inside you? Are you ready for us to conjugate in that way?” And the Shi’ar woman kissed her partner again.

Blueberries. Smooth skin. Confidence. Curves. Security. The best listener. The lovely unusual English of a warrior who had become an artist, whose language would also reflect her Shi’ar native tongue. Her actual tongue, so close to Xi’an’s. “Yes,” Xi’an said.

And Ava’dara’s costume, below the waist, began to take itself apart. 

There was no familiar word in English, maybe not in any Earthly language, for the lovely organ that Shi’ar people who presented (here) as female had: ovipositor, maybe. The body part could move. The body part extended itself from her crotch, and it could expand inside another person, and it had nothing sharp or sudden about it; when it came out of the body (and normally it was entirely inside the body) it was always, already, wet.

The mechanical flower underneath Xi’an receded, and she pulled aside her underwear to let the real Ava’dara, her real…. body part in.

Sometimes Xi’an wondered whether a human, or Earth mutant, who had been with a lot of real humans—a girl who had been with a lot of other girls—would ever go back to Earth girls once she had been with a Shi’ar woman. The ovipositor, whatever it was—and her lover’s sharp eyes, the sense that out of all the planets and all the missions and all the places to stop in this fast-moving galaxy, Ava’dara had chosen her. Wanted to stay with her. And Ava’dara’s organ… it belonged inside Xi'an. Wholly inside Xi'an, moving in her from inside. She was with her lover’s choice, her lover’s invention, her lover’s double, and her real lover, at once, held between them, perfectly, in suspension…. it couldn’t last… every fold and every ridge inside Xi’an wanted Ava'dara's organ there. 

Ava’dara moved slowly, adagio, lento, andate, allegro, inside Xi’an, filling her without pressure, making her inside—there was no word: it wasn’t penetration, it was the opposite of violence, the opposite of going inside someone else, it was something shared, sharing a skin, the best kind of pressure, a rhythm of rubbing outside and inside, wetly and smoothly, so that both women were wetter and wetter the longer it went, with the robo-Ava’dara keeping the vibrations up underneath, rubbing Xi’an’s butt (lest the butt get neglected), and between her legs and between her lips and on her stomach—Ava’dara, the real Ava’dara, placed one hand on Xi’an’s stomach, on her exposed side, as she moved inside her—Xi’an had no words, nothing close to words, just scent, touch, light—

Xi’an drew in breath, drew in breath again, moved her thighs closer together around Ava’dara’s ovipositor, ther breasts almost touching, threw her shoulders back involuntarily, so far in pleasure now, so far from any language, any possession—

Across the robotics workshop, the door clanged open. “Ava’dara, are you down here?” said Assistant Headmistress Kitty Pryde, her flats tapping the tile floor. “I was just-- oh.” Kitty saw the Shi’ar artist’s still-clothed back, the dark top, the straps, and that extraordinary feathered hair, and then, in the chair below them, Xi’an’s very astonished face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is resolved, lessons are learned, and also ovipositors.

If it hadn’t been Kitty—

Fortunately it was.

Xi’an possessed her, fast, turned her around, sent her back down the hallway, making sure she locked the door, while Ava’dara waited, awkward, curious, in a kind of suspension that might have hurt had it lasted any longer.

And then Xi’an threw herself back at her lover, letting the Shi’ar ex-warrior fill her upside, throwing her arms wide, her shoulders back, falling back into the arms of the made-up fake Warbird while the real Warbird, her real devoted lover, pulsed inside her, pulling out all her stoppers, pressing herself down against the dark-haired mutant, so that Xi’an’s eyes opened wide, and wider, and then closed. Everything in her went soft. Ava’dara was touching all her best places, making them pulse faster, faster, slower…. now. Now.

The whole world was gone. Xi’an’s thighs came together, her arms around her real lover, everything contracted into featureless space, then into a thousand stars.

When she opened her eyes again she was still holding her lover, and Ava’dara was looking back in her eyes.

“May I withdraw from you?” Ava’dara paused. Xi’an nodded. “I take so much pleasure from opening myself inside you,” she continued—so much was still new to ‘bird! and new to both of them—"but after you come, sometimes I must withdraw to recharge.”

The warrior-turned-painter made something like a fist, but it wasn’t a fist; the vibrator inside the likeness of her went still, and Xi’an slowly looked around.

“You may let her in,” Ava’dara said, still standing up, contracting her cloak around her, so that it covered her intimate parts, and smoothing her great feathered hair. “It is all part of your living agreement, right? That you made in order to live together in the best way?”

“That’s right,” Xi’an said, breathing slowly. And then, much louder: “Go ahead.”

The second time Kitty came through the workshop door both her colleagues were clothed. Xi’an was still seated, comfortably, in the lap of the robot Ava’dara had made. And smiling.

“I…” Kitty started again. “I’m glad we had that agreement.”

“I knew you’d remember it.”

“Beats a sock on the doorknob.”

“Why,” Warbird asked, “would you beat a sock on a doorknob? That tactic seems neither useful as a defensive action nor likely to make things of beauty—“

Xi’an whispered in her lover’s ear. “Oh.”

“I can go now,” the former Assistant Headmistress said. “I just wanted to know whether—“

Xi’an motioned her closer instead, then touched her wrist. “No, I think you should stay.” The two Earth-born mutants looked at each other, looked away, looked back. 

“Shan,” Ava’dara said. “Is this interaction a good example of nonverbal communication between close friends who were, but currently are not, lovers? Because when we spoke about how such a thing worked among our friends, you had more than one glorious example—“  
“It is,” Kitty said. “It is.” And then, to Xi’an, “I’ve heard some much more awkward questions. You two are good for each other. Warbird. Do you have any other questions, while I’m here? Xi’an and I can figure out field trips tomorrow. I know that I’m at the other school now but there’s still some business here, and you two are certainly not the reason I left—you’re good teachers and you belong where you think it’s best.” And then, to Ava’dara: “It seems like you’re not ready for me to take off.”

Ava’dara, now standing, fixed the longtime X-Man in her pure white eyes. Her lenses—bred, Kitty thought, for battle—flashed: she was happy, and yet unsatisfied, unsatisfied…

“Shadowcat. Kitty,” she said. “You have been in many wars, and yet when the society of mutants speaks of you, it is not as a warrior but as a lover. You have been the lover of my lover, and she speaks of you well. She says—“ Ava’dara seemed to have some trouble getting all the words out in the right order—“that you are a good explainer of love. Both love that has sex and love that does not, and love that is open and love that is secret.” Xi’an took Warbird’s hand.

“Can we talk about love? I have known so much about war, and so little about love, and I can learn from all the museums about making things, and beauty, but if I am to live on Earth and we are to live together”—Warbird’s hand still looked a bit wrong without its metallic gauntlet—“Xi’an says I must be able to talk about love with more than one person.If you are able to take the time I would like to learn the history of your love.”

“’Your love’ as in the entire history of who loves who and why in modern Western culture?” Kitty asked, slightly wide-eyed. “Or ‘your love’ as in my romantic history, who I have dated and why?”

“The second of those two,” said Ava’dara seriously. “And what pleases your body, and bodies like yours, most, and with whom, and how to make those things happen. Xi’an has told me that it is good to educate myself, and that such educations for—“ another pause—“lesbian people often come later in life.”

“That’s true,” Kitty said, “although technically I’m not—“

Xi’an raised a dark eyebrow, as if to say: this is not the time to have a conversation with my shy new Shi’ar girlfriend about the concept of bisexual erasure; this is the time for us to help her feel comfortable. First-person, if possible. Can Kitty do that?

*

She had done it for Xi’an…. Xi’an remembered their Chicago apartment: the almost-kiss, the moving in together (so Aunt Kitty could watch the kids more easily), the shared cooking (that is, the days when Xi’an had to teach Kitty to cook), the moments of almost in bed, and then the moments in bed. Kitty never phased when the two of them had sex, though she warned Xi’an that she might: her whole body, apparently, was trying to take a break from superheroing. They had been a couple, a wonderful couple together, a snuggly couple, raising those kids (who still weren’t done being raised). 

Xi’an would say later, to Dani, that she and Kitty never exactly hooked up because Kitty hadn’t figured her own body out, but the truth was that Kitty knew she was bi, had known for years, had girlfriends as well as boyfriends: it was Xi’an who felt insecure, even when they kissed, even when Kitty… showed her how girl bodies worked. 

Kitty saw herself as a late bloomer, but compared to what? to whom? And she had so few defenses, compared to what Xi’an had built up; and so much experience, compared to what Xi’an had. You can be a girl who knows you’re into girls a long time before you kiss a girl, You can be too busy running from an epochally powerful spirit monster, too busy getting your grade schoolers out the door in the morning, too busy learning algebraic geometry and library science and history of the book and advanced stats and Francophone literature you should have read in your spare time but you liked the professor. You can be too busy to date. For years and years. And then you see Kitty Pryde again, at the university both of you have chosen, and you think: maybe we can teach each other something. 

And you move in together, and it happens, and you’re not exactly an item but you wake up happy in bed together, early morning after early morning, sometimes naked.

And then Kitty gets a call from Rogue or someone and it’s time for her to rejoin the X-Men again, and once again you’re older than she is, and you have more responsibilities (their names are Leong and Nga), and you stay put, and there’s an empty room in your apartment, and then Dani shows up one day and persuades you to move.

And several years and several classes and a couple horrific events later, here you are. And when you and Ava’dara started talking about hooking up—you talked about it before you did it—you said “I feel like we’re a couple already, and we can get physical, and I want us to get physical so badly, ‘bird, but there’s so much you won’t know if I’m the only partner you have—at the very least, let’s try to talk to people we trust about what we’re doing, because I don’t care if you’re from another galaxy or from Secaucus, it hurts to feel like you’re The Only Lesbian in the World, and you’re not, and we’ve got to tell people sooner or later, ‘bird, if we’re together, and we’ve got to tell other queer people. We have to talk about it, too.”

“With whom,” Ava’dara had said, “should we speak?”

“With Kitty,” you said. “If she ever comes back.”

And now here she is.

*

Can Kitty explain anything to Ava’dara, here, now, seated on a crate marked robot parts, while Xi’an was still full of the oxytocin that comes after… what it comes after, while he three of them were in this uncommonly relaxed, or just uncommon, situation?

Of course she can. “Is the door really locked, Shan?” asked Kitty.

“It is locked now,” said Ava’dara, tossing a pen nib all the way across the room. It hit the lock button exactly.

“Tell me about your own life story and the sexual parts,” Ava’dara said. “I think that story would help me.” Her feathers swayed behind her as she finally sat down.

Kitty blushed hard. “Well, I did kiss somebody in summer camp,” she began, “but it was really after I had moved back into the school….”

Xi’an knew most of the story but not all of it. Ava’dara kept her white eyes wide. This whole story—a story about a woman now open, now less so; now public, now less so; now bad-ass, a fighter, and now a public figure who had to watch her image, and now, with Scott’s team, a fighter again, and throughout, a woman who could love both women and men—it was a story that made Ava’dara feel seen.

There were no windows in the robotics workshop. Had the sun set? Were the stars out? Was dinner served? How long did Kitty’s romantic history take, in her own telling? Just long enough.

“…Shan, you know this: Illyana and I are back together, and it just feels really right. But we do have permission to be with other people we trust, if we’re not in the same place. Like, she could be hooking up with Spiral now, and that would be OK. Just not at the base.”

“Spiral?” said Xi’an.

“Just a random example.” Kitty had said too much. “But, I mean, that is somebody Illyana can trust. Who’s not going anywhere near Scott’s team.”

Ava’dara spoke up. Her feathers swayed behind her. “If you are free to hook up with other women whom you might trust,” she said, “and Xi’an is a person you trust, may we hook up with you together? I have—“ 

Some Shi’ar can blush, not pink or red, but a kind of fetching ultramarine. The deep blue in her cheeks set off Warbird’s eyes.

“I have thought of you in a loving way sometimes when I have touched my own ovipositor, Kitty. I wonder if a couple would be a good thing for us to make too.”

Some things you expect when you look for your friend in the robotics lab. Others not so much.

“I have not felt so fiercely in a long while,” Ava’dara continued. “I feel—I would like to be also inside you.”

Kitty took Xi’an’s hand. “That’s—that’s not a thing I’d be comfortable with, Ava’dara,” the curly-haired mutant explained. “But—it can be exciting to just talk about sex in the company of people we trust, and I care very, very much about your girlfriend, and you two are already so good together. Hot together, even.” Something about Ava’dara responded to three in a bed, three in a room, somebody watching, even if it was another version of her: she wanted intimacy without privacy. 

Kitty wished there were a telepath in the room, then realized what telepaths were available and promptly un-wished that wish. Instead she looked intently at Karma, hoping that Karma would take the hint. Nonverbal communication is hard! But they had lived together for months. Maybe Karma would get it.

“Yes,” Xi’an mouthed.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go inside me,” Kitty said, “the way you go inside Xi’an. But if you want to show us your parts and show us what makes them excited, so I could be with Xi’an and see what Xi’an sees—I would be into that. Very into that.” She paused. “I suspect it’s not something I’d see on your robot.”

“It is not,” Ava’dara said, relaxing, and starting to take off her black and white vest, her under-robe, spreading her legs as she sat. 

Kitty watched what emerged: a flower like no flower she had ever seen (not even the Shi’ar flora in spaceship bouquets, which were impressive in their own green ways). Maybe a bird-of-paradise flower? A lily that could expand and get hard, and then expand again on the end? An artichoke stem, but sexy? Soft at first but getting harder now, with three, no, four white buttons on the end, in sleek green and blue....

Warbird could open herself up below her ovipositor, and there was something inviting about that space: as she looked at Kitty with admiration, displaying her secret parts, those a warrior never shows, and as Xi’an looked at both of them, Kitty wanted to place her hand under the ovipositor, to cup it, to cradle it while it grew to its full length.

Instead Kitty put her own hand, palm sideways, between her closed legs, and watched. Xi’an watched. Ava’dara put her fingertips on the opening petals, as if she were fingering a clarinet…. no, playing the water-glasses in a glass harmonica…. no, she was playing herself as an instrument of some other kind, petal after petal expanding on its hardening stalk, growing moist, while her eyes opened. Xi’an put one hand on Ava’dara’s breast, moved to sit beside her, held her broad shoulders under her open vest— her ovipositor grew harder and longer and bloomed, while her legs moved farther apart, and then together—

when a Shi’ar warrior comes and there’s no egg involved, and she’s not inside anyone, ribbons of color and strips of synesthesia cover the space in front of her: the air shimmers. There are unearthly happy sounds. And familiar ones, from her throat, and quieter. And a kind of fine, euphoria-making mist, the air briefly humid until the mist dissolves, with a humidity whose droplets you wanted to catch, or sniff, or taste. The room spins. When your Shi’ar lover comes near you, you can also get very dizzy, dizzy in a happy way, and want to lie down before you sit up, even if she made herself come and all you did was hold her shoulders, hold her midriff, hold her legs. Even if all you did was watch.

The three X-Men sat together in the robotics workshop for a while, until Kitty’s phone pinged. “I have somewhere to be.”

“I have learned much this day,” Ava’dara exclaimed. Karma nodded and took her lover’s hand.

“Me too,” Kitty said. “I would do this again. Also”—she was trying not to call the hot art teacher Warbird-- “Ava’dara? You are a very good teacher.”

“As are you,” the Shi’ar woman responded. “As are you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those of you who put up with chapter 1 before there was a chapter 2! I hope you are happy with the resolution. 
> 
> I see Xi'an/Warbird as a ship that was always meant to happen, and I am not the only one: https://twitter.com/marjoriemliu/status/1028365539847163907?s=21


End file.
